by Taylor Kole
She stopped at the edge of his open floor plan. Dining, living, and sunroom shared a generous space of modern design. Framed sci-fi movie posters, starting with Metropolis and centered with his favorite, Flatlinerss, lined the far south wall. Beneath them, an aquarium that stretched twenty feet. At five ten, Rosa stood an inch shorter than Alex. Her dark-brown eyes swirled like hot coffee finished with crème.
“Hi, Alex.” She held out the envelope. “I brought you a card.”
“That’s really thoughtful.” he said. A small bow decorated the front. The card, an A-frame home with a garden and bent gardener embossed on a green background. Printed inside, So glad you’re finally here. Welcome home. Written below, Welcome to our sacred city. You’re going to love it! Rosa.
“It was the only card in the gift shop that fit,” Rosa said.
“It’s awesome.” He stepped to the nearest table, white with a single drawer, a bowl of white faux fruit on top. He pushed the bowl aside and propped up the card. It felt like a female-to-male equivalent of a rose bouquet. His blush was so bright he feared facing her.
“It smells good. What’s cooking?” she asked.
Between them? No, no, she meant the food on the grill. He swallowed. “I don’t even know.”
“Didn’t you just come from out there?”
He tried to remember what Kole had been thawing in the sink but came up empty. “I’m pretty sure it’s meat.”
She smirked. “That’s a safe bet.”
Feeling overwhelmed with attraction, he extended his hand to initiate contact. “Nice to see you again.”
They shook once up, once down. He smiled so wide he probably looked goofy, but didn’t care.
“There’s the man of the house right there.” Kole guided a woman by her shoulders. “This is Melissa. You’ll soon learn she’s the best hostess at Mountaintop Steakhouse.”
She blushed. “I seat customers. It’s a pretty simple job.”
“I’ve seen those seating charts—com-pli-ca-ted,” Kole said. “Have a seat around this kingly table. I’ll check the grill.”
Jason wore a gray Star Wars T-shirt. In silence, he took the table’s head position. Denise continued on, inspecting the place, opening doors, mumbling (compliments?) under her breath.
Alex considered holding a chair out for Rosa, decided it was too cordial, then thought about where to sit—one spot away from her, directly next to, across from? He bit the end of his thumb.
“Where are you going to sit?” Rosa asked.
“Right here.” He grabbed the back of the nearest chair.
“Then I’ll sit here.” She grabbed the one next to him.
“Thirty minutes until we eat,” Kole said as he returned, carrying a fifth of Captain Morgan and a two liter of Coke. “Who wants to play Presidents and Assholes?”
Remembering the Asian man, Alex asked, “Is Song coming?”
“No, man,” Kole said, “I like the dude, but you can’t understand him unless we’re in—”
He and Alex locked eyes.
Carl busied himself opening one of three decks of cards.
Everyone knew Rosa and Melissa lacked the proper security clearance to even mention the word Lobby. They had no idea what clients experienced at the Atrium, or why clients arrived at Eridu in such good spirits.
The ladies focused their inquisitive looks on Kole.
Alex understood what Kole had planned to say: ‘You can’t understand Song unless we’re in the Lobby.’ All languages translated to the clients’ original language, to facilitate communication. The Lobby erased age gaps and stature and looks and dialects, making it a place where friendships formed solely on compatibility.
“Can’t understand him unless what?” Melissa asked.
Rosa glanced at Alex and squinted, as if trying to read something in his features.
“Unless his girl’s hanging on his arm to translate,” Denise said, as she pulled out a chair and glared at Alex. “You must be damned important for all this bling.”
“How many cards do I deal?” Jason asked, the cards poised in his outstretched hand. Perhaps he heard the slip and was now running cover.
“Deal out the deck,” Kole sat, ending the mishap. “The rules are simple. Jason leads off by playing his lowest card. Going to his right, you must play a card higher. If you can’t, pairs trump singles, triples and quads go on pairs, twos clear the pile, and you lead out. First person to play all their cards is the president during the next game. Second person out is the vice president, third the governor, etc. The last guy is the asshole. They have to shuffle and deal, and everyone must do what anyone above them says.”
“So if I win,” Melissa said, “you have to do what I tell you?”
“When I win, you’ll have to do what I tell you,” Kole said.
Intended as a drinking game, Kole bummed at the realization that only he, Melissa, and Denise were drinking. The group substituted commands to drink for silly acts: Carl was made to quack like a duck each time someone played a card for a full turn. Denise ordered Kole to do a chicken dance while the table sang the beat. Alex failed miserably when Rosa (their VP) ordered him (the lowly mayor) to do a Kamarinskaya, the traditional Russian dance. With arms crossed, he went low as the men clapped in time.
The ladies yelled, “Lower, go lower, lower,” until he fell back on his bum. Instead of red-hot embarrassment, Alex laughed with the room, cut short by Rosa bending to help him up.
Her palms on his arms added to his bliss.
“You guys clear the table,” Rosa said. “We’ll get the side dish.” She tapped Alex’s arm.
Melissa passed them on the way to the kitchen, carrying the casserole they had intended to grab, but Rosa continued onward. “I want to see what you have to drink besides soda.”
His forty-nine cubic foot of storage Turbo Air refrigerator opened out from the middle. They each grabbed a handle, pulled, and leaned in to inspect, which placed their heads inches apart. He stared at the Tropicana label. She stared at him. The refrigerator’s cool air helped chill his soaring body temperature. “I have OJ, bottled water, a V8.”
If he turned, he’d practically be kissing her. That seemed way too forward, despite the idea’s appeal.
Perhaps she wanted to kiss? Pecking her lips in front of an open refrigerator seemed juvenile.
Intending to find out why she still faced him, he rotated. She swiveled to peruse the beverages at the perfect time. He thought he saw her grinning ever so slightly.
“I’ll take a bottle of water.” Rosa reached inside. “You want something?” she asked as they both rose and closed the doors.
He knew staring into her eyes showed his hand: that he found her breathtakingly beautiful, that he wanted to lean forward and kiss her, that he’d never felt an energy like what pulsed between them.
She cracked open the bottled water, sipped, and said, “I’m starving,” before moving toward the other room.
“Do you want to eat here again tomorrow?” Alex blurted.
Stopping at the steps, she turned and inspected him, her lips pursed. “That depends on how good the food is.” She continued to the other room.
Smiling, Alex knew that would be a yes: cheddar bratwursts were manna from heaven.
Chapter Six
Rosa accepted Alex’s invitation for a return visit the next day. The generous amount of leftover food drew Kole and Carl as well. Carl inserted himself when Alex invited Rosa for movie night on day three. There was a day where Alex worked late and only had an hour-long phone call with Rosa, then another Rosa date that included Carl, where, despite the sting it inflicted, Alex pulled him aside and explained that he enjoyed Carl but wanted a night alone with Rosa. Carl relented, and Alex now prepared for the big day.
As he showered and groomed, Alex committed himself to trying for a kiss tonight after work. Their feelings were palpable and mutual, he hoped. He wanted to be able to place his arm around her. He wanted to feel her hand on his knee as she used hi
m as a brace when standing.
Having completed his orientation week, today was his first official day as head of programming. No more tours and hours with Rigo. He’d be in work area one, with his team. He daydreamed about giving an introduction speech. Over the past week, he’d learned how Broumgard divided project responsibilities. He intended to revamp their system, assign tasks to individuals according to their strengths and likes; those steps alone should streamline the work.
The option of late stays appealed to him as well. Not as a routine or a way to brownnose, but at Vision Tech, he’d often stayed past normal work hours, and soon found other programmers joining him. When modeled correctly, an after-hours environment toed the line between labor and recreation. Music cranked. Pizza arrived. Debates about the eventualities of the technology on the Syfy channel took precedent, but some work got done, often their most creative.
Broumgard’s programmers used Plow Straight, but not to its full potential. The first few days would include a crash course taught by its designer. That should increase output an additional ten to fifteen percent.
He checked the clock: 6:20. The tram departed at ten after seven. Though he’d never discussed it with Rosa, they’d been meeting earlier and earlier each morning as a way to gain more time together.
Having completed his morning routine, he selected an olive-colored T-shirt and a gray flannel, thinking the color combination complimented his brown eyes.
Racing down the steps, he grabbed two snack bars in the kitchen, popped Victor in his ear, and headed out.
Even in June, Montana’s morning air was frigid.
Jogging to the tram tower, he climbed the steps two at a time, hoping he’d early-bird Rosa, spread a Cheshire grin when she arrived, give a teasing answer when she queried about the Atrium’s draw. He wondered if chains of thoughts like this were what created love?
Rosa liked to guess about what went on at the Atrium. She always looked away when spitballing, to keep from actually prying. Her strongest inclination was that they offered some kind of harem, which he guessed held some credibility due to Pleasure House 101. But the Lobby represented much more than a place to satisfy sexual fantasies.
Rosa waited in her scrubs, her crossed arms a staked flag of early-arrival victory.
Carl waited too. The albino programmer exuded a gentle aura. Alex liked his company and sympathized with his interest in hanging with Alex and Rosa. Just not tonight.
Alex had a full-course meal planned. He’d rounded up an assortment of candles, prepped a Blake Shelton playlist, and cleaned his place from top to bottom.
Rosa smiled at his approach, which started his day more efficiently than dunking his head in a bucket of ice water.
“Morning,” Alex said.
Instead of a reply, Rosa pulled him by the pinkie finger and kissed him on the lips. “Good morning to you.”
The unexpected affection acted as a concussion-inducing grenade. Wow. Their first kiss. Alex couldn’t contain his smile. Deciding their first kiss needed improvement, he took a deep breath, stepped in front of her, and leaned in. As his lips touched hers, he cupped the back of her head and lost himself in the moment.
Pulling away but maintaining eye contact, he knew they had sealed a pact. In computing terms, their compounding feelings had integrated into one system that would now work together to enhance the new, singular unit.
Carl’s voice broke the mood. “This is uncomfortable, guys.”
Their grins widened to the precipice of laughter.
“Apologies, Carl,” Rosa said, as she separated from Alex. They resumed their normal morning chat, only this time, Alex held Rosa’s hand.
The tram seemed to ride on air. Alex floated toward the workroom, trying unsuccessfully to bring his mind around to his work day.
“Mr. Cutler, one moment, sir,” a bass-filled voice said, drawing him out of his haze.
Alex turned to find the incredible hulk, Dalton, hustling toward him.
“Good morning, Mr. Cutler.”
“Morning.” Alex noticed the two silver bars on Dalton’s uniform. Three spear tips for a sergeant, one silver bar for lieutenant, and two silver bars for a captain. Apparently, Dalton being a big man had a double meaning.
“I know today’s a big one for you. I just wanted to personally welcome you aboard and congratulate you on a good game last week.”
“Thank you, but we both know I should be thanking you. This place is wonderful.”
“Adisah is the man to thank. He’s a magnificent person.” He glanced over his shoulder at the door to Alex’s workroom.
A pair of suit-wearing men entered. From the brief glimpse Alex got inside, the room appeared packed, like, ten times the normal occupancy packed.
When Alex returned his attention to Dalton, the man seemed more relaxed, as if he’d had a mission to stall Alex and allow those men to enter.
“Anyway,” Dalton said, “great game. If our new guy didn’t try to go low on you, the outcome may have been different.”
“Win or lose, it was the most fun I’ve ever had.”
“It always is, Mr. Cutler,” Dalton backed away. “We’re all excited and anxious to see what you’re going to add.” He clapped his paws, and smiled. “You have a great day.”
“Thank you.”
Alex stopped at the door to his work area and breathed deep, hoping tardiness wouldn’t impact his Lobby credits.
Triple the expected occupants filled his workroom. All the normal programmers, along with a dozen professionally dressed men and women speckled the outer wall.
Dr. Brad Finder stood near the front with four guys in lab coats, who looked as if they’d taken time out of their day to be here, were huddled over a tablet. And the man himself, Adisah Boomul, waited with Tara near the main desk.
Adisah had plumped up since the orientation video was recorded and gone gray in spots. Age softened his features, making the gentle-looking man seem like he belonged in a temple, humming his daily devotions to life.
Energy sparked in the room. Despite its positive feel, Alex chewed his bottom lip while remaining in the doorway. He fought an urge to run back to Dalton and ask what was going on.
As if sensing his presence, Adisah and Tara turned in unison.
“Ah, Mr. Cutler.” Adisah beamed. “So wonderful to meet you. Please.” He beckoned him closer.
Everyone turned toward Alex. He swallowed and navigated through the occupied desks.
Recalling himself bouncing on his toes, being a six-foot-four, organic machine, and realizing this man had been responsible for that experience vibrated excitement in him like a struck gong.
“You possess a real gift, you know that?” Adisah said. “To think where we’d be if I would have had someone like you twenty years ago.”
The comment was like Stephen King saying you had a great imagination or Christian Bale marveling at your acting talent. Finally, he managed, “Well, you have me now, sir.”
Adisah waved off the sir and addressed the room.
“Would anyone care to tell Alex what makes him and this day so special for us?”
The sharp crack-hum of an electric wheelchair drew Alex’s attention. An elderly man he immediately recognized as the majority shareholder, Roy Guillen, scooted his SmartDrive wheelchair closer. He nodded with appreciation at Alex, while a colleague in a corduroy suit stood behind his chair.
Alex had Googled Roy shortly after arriving. There was so much content, reading articles about him had turned into a nightly habit. Beyond being a hotel mogul, Roy Guillen had climbed Mount Kilimanjaro (where they lost a man to exposure), scuba-dived the colorful reefs off the coast of Thailand, and spent a year assisting in Tohoku, Japan, after the tsunami that killed more than fifteen thousand. Having experienced so much, something about the fiery gleam in the man’s eyes looked out of place in a damaged body.
“Very glad you’re here, son,” Roy said. “Very glad, indeed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Guillen.” As lon
g as this summons wasn’t a prelude to Alex’s termination, he would attempt to schedule some face time with the man. It wasn’t everyday you met a real-life action figure, or one of America’s roughly five hundred and sixty-three billionaires.
Adisah removed a memory stick from the side of a nearby laptop and displayed it to the packed room as he addressed Alex. “Do you know what you’ve done, Mr. Cutler?”
No, he thought as he shook his head. He hadn’t done anything yet. He scratched behind his ear as he surveyed the room.
Song gave him a surreptitious thumbs up.
Denise pursed her lips in a kiss.
“When entering or exiting a chosen world from inside the Lobby,” Adisah began, “clients and employees alike have suffered from a discomfort stemming from an unidentified flaw in our software. We all accepted this discomfort as a case of taking the good with the bad. A tugging sensation starts in your tummy, which some have compared to being eviscerated, or spending a day with my financial advisors.”
Forced chuckles circulated the room.
“And thanks to you, Mr. Cutler, that lone detriment has been plucked from our software, making the Lobby the wholly euphoric experience it was designed to be.”
Before Alex could reply, Tara brought her hands together in applause. Others followed. It escalated until the room danced with the sound, replete with shouts and desk slaps.
Alex thought about the message he’d emailed the design department. A hand clasped his and shook; someone patted his back. Roy Guillen thanked him over and over for his gift.
Eridu and the Lobby were Alex’s gifts—ones that surpassed his wildest dreams.
Chapter Seven
Alex whistled a tuneless stream as he exited the elevator onto his penthouse level. Even after more than a year at Eridu, Patterned Creation continued to amaze him. The bouts of inspiration brought on by the massive globe’s beauty improved each of the worlds he’d worked on. Since assuming the reins of Broumgard’s programming department, his team had completed two worlds. The first, Golf Retreat, offered two hundred and sixteen of the industry’s best courses, forty-two of their own design, and four played on a gravity-impoverished moon.
